


Violet Musings

by rocketmeaway



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketmeaway/pseuds/rocketmeaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John becomes overly interested in Sherlock's choice of clothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violet Musings

It’s that damn shirt again.   
  
Sherlock must wear it at least once a week. John presses his lips together in a firm line as Sherlock sits opposite him in the kitchen, that damn shirt stretching and tightening in all the right places, buttons straining across his chest. Nearly all of Sherlock’s button ups are just that small bit too tight, but this one is worse than the rest. It’s a deep, rich purple, the color of bloody royalty, and it looks so fucking good on Sherlock it should be a mortal sin. It contrasts sharply against the pale, unblemished creaminess of the skin on his neck, and it makes those blue eyes of his even brighter and more clear. And somehow, it makes those messy curls even darker and glossier, as well.   
  
There’s a rustle as Sherlock picks up a tabloid magazine that John purchased for him at the shop, beginning to skim through it as he sips at his tea, and it obscures John’s view just a bit, which he’s both irritated and relieved by. He can’t have been looking more than a few seconds, but it feels like much longer, so he forcefully drags his eyes away and back to the Sunday paper he was reading before he was so...distracted. Intermittently, and subtly (or so he thinks), his eyes continue to flick up and take in how the satiny fabric gathers, tightens, loosens, and flows (and repeat. And repeat. And repeat.) across Sherlock’s torso.   
  
John fights not to let his mind wander too badly, and stands, moving to deposit his mug in the sink and do the washing up. Every time he turns, his eyes still skim over Sherlock, however, and every time his back turns, the barest hint of a smirk appears on Sherlock’s face. It still amuses (and annoys, most of the time) Sherlock that John is an intelligent man, more so than most, but can still be so blissfully oblivious to obvious social experiments like this one.   
  
He likes to file away all of John’s little reactions, and so he began to wear the shirt more when he noticed how John first reacted to it.    
  


***

  
_They were going out to interview someone involved on a case that morning, and Sherlock walked out into the living room, buttoning the final button and flipping the collar down neatly. John had turned to say something, but he’d paused, mouth still slightly open.  
  
_ _“What?” Sherlock lifted a brow, studying him as he shrugged into his suit jacket._ ( Eyes clouded, pupils dilated. Pleasure. Aesthetic pleasure; neat appearance, well put together for interview, freshly showered, no other cause of pleasure present. Movements slower, mouth open and stuck. Forgot what he meant to say. Distraction. Eyes trained on me. Aesthetic pleasure derived from me. )  
  
 _“...nothing,” John finally spoke, remembering once more how his voice worked. “New shirt?”_

_   
_

_“Yes.”  
  
“The color suits you.”_ _  
  
__Sherlock furrowed his brow slightly._ ( John finds me physically attractive. Why? When? How? ) _He let out a noncommittal sort of grunt and turned to get his coat. “Let’s go, we’re late.”_  
  


***

  
The reaction has changed since the initial, of course. John looks almost annoyed whenever Sherlock wears it now, and Sherlock knows it’s because it distracts him so much and makes his mind wander no matter how hard he tries to control it. Those big brown eyes always come wandering back to trail over Sherlock’s torso, the briefest flash of hunger and want in them every time. It could be classified as torture, but it’s too interesting to simply stop.   
  
He doesn’t feel that thrill that people like to speak of when someone attractive ‘checks you out’, and John Watson is most certainly an attractive man. Well above average. Even Sherlock notices that, as little interest as he has in the matter. He does, however, enjoy how different it is. He is used to the majority of people looking at him with a mixture of many things - hate, hostility, confusion, anger, hurt, dullness, stupidity. All negative things. John looks at him so much differently, all the time. Sure, there are negatives mixed in - Sherlock doesn’t ever take care to censor himself for the sake of anyone’s feelings - but the way John looks at him is a novelty.   
  
When John looks at him, he sees admiration, adoration, fascination, amusement, care, warmth, want, lust, hunger. In general, happiness.  Positivity  radiates from those eyes and Sherlock has never really seen that before. Sometimes with his mother in the past, but that was so long ago and this is here and now, every single day. And the damn purple shirt evokes those looks even more than others, so that Sherlock can bathe in them, soak them up, study them and file them away again and again. He’s come to enjoy those looks, so perhaps it’s become a bit more selfish than experimental at this point.  
  
“Why do you always wear that shirt?” John suddenly breaks Sherlock’s train of thought and he blinks, looking up to meet his gaze. Well, that’s new. This is only the second time John’s brought up the shirt. His frustration is reaching a boiling point, he can see it. His shoulders are tense. “You must have hundreds, yet you wear it nearly every week. New favorite?”  
  
“Yes.” Simple and to the point, as well as true on a certain level.  
  
“Huh.”  
  
“You said the color suited me,” Sherlock adds, voice even. “I agree.”  
  
Shock registers on John’s features, and then pleasure. Bingo. His frustration has melted away and is forgotten in lieu of something more pleasurable - a commonplace need - Sherlock has remembered something he said. Something, for the most part, insignificant, and to boot, he’s acted upon it. John puffs up a little and smiles, appeased, and turns back to the washing with a little more pep in his movements. He looks proud of himself.   
  
Sherlock may have shared a little too much - now John knows he wears the shirt all the time because of him - but it’s a sacrifice he was willing to make, and simple enough. From now on whenever he wears it, John will remember this, and those looks will grow warmer; fonder. It’s a strange new addiction, these looks. There’s definitely no magical thrill, but there’s certainly a vague fluttering he wants to study some more.


End file.
